It is snowing. Water is trinkling. Crickets are chirruping. It is freezing. Winter is here, in some outer space. But the ambiance is widely removed from that. Not some distant, exotic countryside - a more quixotic nature burrows its roots into strata of warm-blooded experience. There is a distance, to be sure. A length measured in paradisiacal strata. A width measured in lengths of vibrational extensions of neurological tendrils into the vast reaches of an inner sanctuary. A depth measured in fathoms of aether. Three dimensions of distance, condensed and compacted into an extended timeframe of corporeality, realigned in constellation. The ensuing aurora only blinds the external eye; but it enlightens us to the length, and width, and depth of being itself.